Why Dating a Male Feminist Is Like Dating a Bitchy Girl

Like most ideologues, male feminists make me uncomfortable. But because I’m a woman, they make me particularly uncomfortable.

Because the most abusive, nasty, and whiny guys I run into into are invariably male feminists. They treat women exactly as badly as they claim all the other guys treat women.

They’re selfish and lazy in bed; they use the evils of chivalry as an excuse for making you do their share of the housework as well as theirs; they’ll gladly let you pay for all the groceries in the name of independence. Their idea of empowering you is refusing to pull their own weight.

They’re incapable of having female friends without trying to get them into bed; when these attempts fail, the so-called “friendship” ends in a miasma of sulking (or stalking). They can’t stand to leave it at friendship because they haven’t got the confidence in their own masculinity to “waste” even the remotest chance of getting some. (Because nine times out of ten they fuck it up with their whining and manipulative swinishness.)

Once they do get you in the sack, the games begin. I’ve been cheated on by a male feminist boyfriend in the most hurtful and horrible ways possible—for example, being replaced by a girl who was literally half my age while I was mourning the death of my best friend. When this charming specimen tried to get me to falsely accuse one of my friends of raping me—just to see if he had enough control over me to get me to accuse an innocent person of a felony—he responded to my refusal with “Haven’t you even heard of feminism?”

Oh, I’ve heard of it. Wish I hadn’t, though.

On the other hand, guys who don’t babble about feminist theory make attentive lovers as well as great friends. As friends, they might toss you one pass for the hell of it; if you don’t catch it, they have the confidence to assume the next girl will, and can go on being as robustly chummy as before. They don’t befriend women in hopes that they’ll get laid—they befriend women they actually want to befriend. If they get laid, it’s the cherry on the sundae.

If the male feminist doesn’t get laid after doling out some friendship, it’s end-of-the-fucking-world-level unfaaaaaaaaaair.

Why is this? Why do the men who talk the loudest about women’s rights and how the ladies ought to stand up for themselves turn around and treat them to the most cruel and presumptuous behaviors imaginable?

Well, ’cause sometimes the lady doth protest too much.

Like white liberals who won’t shut the fuck up about everyone else’s racism, I suspect these guys feel a serious secret prejudice, nay, hatred toward the objects of their solicitous concern.

Racism and sexism are bad-think, you see. (I mean, sure, these are bad things, but they’re human emotions, better dealt with than neurotically denied.) These twats are too vain to wrap their heads around the notion that there might be any sort of unsavory note in the fine bouquet of their souls. So rather than get help with their little hatred problem, they scream about everyone else’s sexism and racism in hopes that no one will see through to the evil in their own hearts.

Guys who don’t hate women, on the other hand, have no need to throw up such ideological smokescreens. Why would they yip and yap about feminist theory? They have nothing to hide. They tell it like it is, open the door for you if you like; they help you clean up your kitty litter, lend a hand when a stranger’s car breaks down; they’re kind and helpful, whether they think it will get them laid or not.

Because they’re confident they’ll get laid sometime in any case. Because they come equipped with a genuine love for women. Security makes people generous. Hatred makes them shrill.

I’m sure there are feminists out there who will read this, grinding their teeth, and squawk about how I obviously hate myself. “She’s defending the sort of woman-beater who doesn’t read Naomi Wolf like she’s the Gospel according to Luke! Clearly she likes being punched.”

You have one guess at the ideological bent of the guy who actually punched me.

Ladies, if you want the lovely treatment feminism promises to deliver you, avoid male feminists like the sneaky-ass woman-haters they are.

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Ann is an editor and a writer who produces actual tragic comedies—that is, they aren't unfunny stories that end happily like in "Tragicomedy." They're funny stories that end horribly. The other stuff she does is only interesting to her. Buy her best novel, NVSQVAM, at Nine-Banded Books, which also published her recent Mirbeau translation. Her second-best novel is available on Amazon (as is everything else Sterzingerian). You can find her blog at www.annsterzinger.com.